


Snuff

by IMMAFISHINABOAT



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Fedora verse AU AU - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:18:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMMAFISHINABOAT/pseuds/IMMAFISHINABOAT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No regrets” Wally mouthed to him as he was translated to the police car, camera flashes illuminating his face. </p>
<p>Wally West was the most wanted thief on the blooming Central City, and after three years of trying to get him, they did. Central city’s detectives stopped being a hardboiled joke, but Hunter’s life went from jazz and swing to lonely blues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snuff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsxandy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsxandy/gifts).



> Did I just wrote an AU of an AU? Yeah, yes, I think I did.  
> I promised myself I wouldn't, but I did it.  
> Well...there you go.

The kid, as the people called him, has been missing for a month, but they all knew better than pass him as gone.

Hunter Zolomon has been looking for him since two years ago, since the Kid’s first big bank heist.

The kid liked to use flashy costumes, but he was as stealthy as a chameleon at hiding. His mode of escaping was rushed and quick, but cool as a breeze. The kid knew the perks of his getaways and their way of working.   

The first time he met the kid there were some…complications. The kid was in some kind of gang, so to speak, and he had the help of the most known rogues of Central. Lucky bastard. The kid has some kind of infatuation with fashion too, for his most preferred places were in men stores, were the money and the newest suits were snatched out of their places. And don’t get him started on fedoras…

It was the Kid’s trademark; a fedora with an “ _I got you!_ ” scribbled on a dollar bill, hanging on the counter of every place he robbed. The only clue he left them.

He met Wally West, a student of some big science school, at a bar where musicians played the most recent notes from Sinatra and Holiday. They met constantly at the same bar and talked about meaningless whys and hows, sometimes they danced, and sometimes they didn’t even talk at all; Wally’s smoking presence was enough for him on bad days.

Wally’s manner was free, tasted like sweet honey and sour nicotine.

They shared the same bed and skin sometimes. “ _No regrets”_ was Wally’s signature phrase after spending time with him. Lady Holiday was right; he was just funny that way.

 

* * *

 

They found out The kid’s identity.

The little detectives that were on central found it, after so long, after being laughed at by everyone as a hardboiled joke; it was something they all celebrated with cheers. But for Hunter it was a big blow on the head.

Wallace Rudolph West, shortened to Wally West, was the most wanted thief on the blooming Central City.

That night, when he went to the bar, Wally’s smile was shining for him. _Laughing_ _at him_. He didn’t smile for Wally, but he let him share his bed. In the morning, before Wally could even reach for a cigarette, Hunter handcuffed him. Wally was surprised, but he smiled at him nonetheless.

“No regrets” Wally mouthed to him as he was translated to the police car, camera flashes illuminating his face.

The kid’s presence in jail was the big hit of the month to all radio stations, his photos the most used on newspapers. A famous fashion designer even dared to use one of the kid’s photos as his new portfolio cover.

“Jailed, not disgraced” the designer applauded Wally.

Hunter didn’t set a foot inside the bar with the soft and playful notes at the background anymore. Hunter’s life went from the jazz and swing he used to hear with Wally to the blues that his work station liked to play.

 

* * *

 

The kid escaped jail.

The runaway child hid for a while, but started to get on his old swag soon enough. Central city security major couldn’t do more than sputter with the news, they had the most secure jail in the entire country, a leak was impossible.

Hunter always knew Wally’s influence and tactics could take him far, but not _too_ far, so he searched for him.

Hunter met again with Wally months after his escapade, at some downtown bar that liked to play jazz records on an old phonograph. The bar’s neglected appearance making contrast with Wally’s easy going and sophisticated form, but combining with Hunter’s own persona.

 They sat on the opposite extremes of a pool table, staring at each other like strangers as Wally softly smiled a cloud of smoke. They left together.

Hunter drank the sweet honey and the sour nicotine in Wally’s manner again that night. Neither of them said a word. When Hunter woke up the next morning, Wally was gone, but the cigarette perfumed feeling remained.

 

* * *

 

Hunter was in a big trouble. Wally’s father(that, according to what Wally told him, never ever cared about him) found out Hunter was the one to put Wally in jail, and as the boss of the most secret mafia group in Central, he couldn’t pass a fool, so he started to chase him. To kill him, obviously.

He successfully escaped the first three murder attempts, but he wasn’t so sure he would be so lucky this time. A group of armed men started a gun chase when he was taking a coffee break with three more of his officials. He ran out of ammo, and now he was running as fast as he could while trying to avoid choking on his own breath; he idly wondered if Wally ever felt like this on a chase.

Gunshots passed by his sides, but didn’t come closer. Hunter’s feet got tangled in a protruding pipe by the sidewalk and he fell. His head made a very ugly “thud” and his leg started to feel on fire once he stopped running.

Maybe the hot-burning sensation was just the bullet that grazed him on the knee some minutes before.

He tightly closed his eyes as more gunshots were heard, but opened them when a familiar voice called him.

“Hunter! Are you okay? You’re bleeding” Wally’s suit was stained in crimson, and he was handling a gun, but he didn’t look as disheveled as him.

“Wally? Y-Yeah, I’m- Watch out!” he warned him, but the bullet was faster.

Wally’s tailored suit slowly got more soaked in blood as he fell to the ground. Hunter went to Wally’s side as he came out of his shock; he checked his vitals and tried in vain to press on the wounds. There were three holes pouring blood from Wally’s body.”Don’t worry, an, an… ambulance will be here soon” Wally just stared at him.

“I g-got ya’” Wally said while putting his fedora on Hunter’s head. “Still…n-no regrets”

Minutes before the ambulance came, Wally went limp; his face faintly smiling big drops of blood while Hunter hummed some old cigarette perfumed songs.

Hunter Zolomon swore revenge.

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the late 30's and I did too much references in this one.
> 
> Billie Holiday was nicknamed "Lady", and the songs I referenced from her are: "He's funny that way" and "No regrets".
> 
> There is a Regina Spektor reference too....
> 
> Sinatra played a big part on this one, but no references for him. 
> 
> Hardboiled fiction is a genre that was used a lot in detective stories, for detectives were seen as this guy with hard feelings. I think it was fairly new in the 30's and it didn't gain a lot of fame until the 40's? 60's?
> 
> I used "sour nicotine" instead of "sour tobacco" because the nicotine is the one that makes you addict...even if it doesn't have any sour taste, I think?.


End file.
